


Hospital for Souls

by lanaskye



Category: Hetalia - Fandom, anime - Fandom
Genre: Adult themes/ implications, Also minor angst, Fluff, M/M, for side characters, germany and Hungary are there, i'm a sap so, lots of fluff, maybe a small bit of violence?, rated for: language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanaskye/pseuds/lanaskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Year after year, Gilbert Beilschmidt and Roderich Edelstein continue their vehement battling. Anger runs through their veins in place of blood, kindling a passionate hatred, but something lies beneath the pools of rage...</p><p>Both of the men know that when the vexation subsides, the terrifying truth is exposed- something they aren't ready to admit, not even to themselves. </p><p>A PruAus fanfiction, mainly fluff but partially angst and possibly a bit of smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fanfiction on ao3, I've read things on here before but I've never actually published anything. 
> 
> Please, do not hesitate to tell me what you think! I want to hear your criticism (what you liked and what you didn't) so I can better my writing. Also, if I make any grammatical/spelling errors, please let me know and they will be fixed ASAP.
> 
> Thank you so much for your time and for reading this! I appreciate every single read this gets and love you all!

Ch. 1- Surrender

The sky was grey, clouds blotting the stormy canvas. Each moment threatened pounding rain. Even so, two men marched forward, controlled by pride and a blizzard of emotions that rivaled the one brewing outside.

Wind ripped through the air and stung Roderich Edelstein's porcelain skin. A shimmering silver sword hung from his belt, his violet eyes dark and imposing with a fierce determination that forced him to move forward. Each footstep sparked a flutter of emotions in his chest, contracting anxiously, churning alarmingly. Roderich pushed it back down. He wouldn't allow himself to be made a fool of; not again, not by anyone, and especially not by Gilbert Beilschmidt. 

Gilbert Beilschmidt walked forward, shielding himself with an impish yet demanding demeanor. Like Roderich, he was nervous, unsure despite the imposing aura he carried. The sight of the man had caused something to change inside of him last time. He vowed not to be clouded by such incomprehensible emotions again. Rough, tan hands met the cold exterior of his sword's hilt as the moment of confrontation approached rapidly.

And then the walk was over. Thunder boomed its ominous warning, promising- no, threatening- a torrent of wind and rain and freezing air that could chill a man to his bone. Scalding violet eyes met blood-red, lightning shattering the dull charcoal sky. A few shaky breaths were taken, buried by the wind that whipped around them, burning dry throats. 

It was finally time.

Rain began to crash down from the sky. Roderich noticed himself shaking, instantly blaming it on the cold air that wrapped itself around his body, but deep down he knew that wasn't the reason why. Fear steadily met anger. What he was scared of, well- he wasn't quite sure. Or at least he would like to think that. He would like to deny the way Gilbert looking at him, eyes taking in his figure, awakened a deep hunger he wouldn't allow himself to satisfy.

And then the moment of relishing in raw emotion was over and there was the loud, sudden sound of metal on metal. Clanging hung in the air, a grim reminder to stay on your toes and prepare for the next attack. Swift arm and leg movements cut through the air. A cold sweat shivered down Gilbert's spine as he told himself not to look at Roderich, not to meet his enchanting gaze, and definitely not to savor the way the rain made the Austrian's clothes stick to his skin. He forced out his emotions in the swings of his sharp weapon.

Moments drudged on yet somehow they were also gone too soon. Hours of rythmetic, dance-like fighting, harmonized by the sound of heavy breathing and rain and wind and weaponry clashing, passed. It had become routine, their outlet for surpressed emotions- despite the worst of intentions neither was truly aiming to kill. Blood pooled on the ground, scratches and burns were etched upon skin, but neither Gilbert nor Roderich truly felt it. And then Roderich's sword fell upon the ground as he was pushed into the trunk of a nearby tree.

"What's the matter, Princess?" Gilbert sneered as his hands dug into the Austrian's shoulders. "Where's your tiara? Did you leave it at home?"

Roderich glared up into Gilbert's eyes, trying unsuccessfully to calm his breathing. "You-" he choked, Gilbert's hands wrapping around his neck. "- bastard..."

The Prussian found his fingers aching for more contact but desperately pushed the longing down. "I'm not your bastard. But I will be your nightmare."

Roderich coughed up a bit of rain that had slipped down his throat and forced Gilbert's hands off of his neck. "You won't win this war. Not this time."

"Is that so? What if I kill you now?" Gilbert pushed the edge of his sword into the first layer of skin on the other's throat. Roderich closed his eyes, hands shaking. "Do it. But I won't surrender to you. Not now, not ever."

There was a flash of lightning in that moment, one that illuminated the night and the decision that would ultimately change both of the two men's lives forever.


	2. Masked with Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roderich relives some of his best and worst moments, from fighting Gilbert to allying with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took some history lessons, but I tried to keep this as accurate as possible. However, please keep in mind that I'm no historian so some of the details/largely minor stuff may be incorrect. 
> 
> Again, thank you all so much for reading! <3
> 
> *Also, I couldn't find Denmark's human name, so I just called him Denmark. Sorry about that guys.

Ch. 2- Masked with Violence

One moment, Roderich was trying to ignore the painful metal blade piercing his flesh and the next he was somewhere else entirely.

But he couldn't move. In fact, he was physically still beside Gilbert, but mentally he was remembering. He was remembering something he hadn't in a long time.

The year was 1756. Of course, their rivalry had begun a bit over a decade ago, scattered with angry invasions and bloody battles; but this was the first time he had felt such pure rage and anguish. In the past, his sometimes-and-sometimes-not ally Ivan had helped him, but this time Roderich was with Francis. They were to be fighting Prussia and England. It was the beginning of a war that would last only seven years, but thrive for millennia- and Roderich remembered every moment. He would, he knew, carve scars into Gilbert's skin and burn him in ways he didn't think were possible. There were battles; some spent under the smoldering sun that would etch blisters into their dry, cracking bodies and obscure their vision, and others that would freeze and shatter every muscle in their body. Lives would be lost in the pandemonium of combat. Misery would seep through the blood-stained dirt and into the minds of all. Sleep was riddled with frightening dreams that became reality as soon as the sun rose.

Roderich remembered those dreams. He would wake up in a cold sweat, torn and dirty blankets strewn everywhere, sometimes even with tears running down his cheeks (not that he'd ever admit it out loud). When they would discuss the previous evening's nightmares at breakfast, Roderich would always reply he dreamed of killing Gilbert, which was true. However, the disturbing part to him was, he was being forced to kill Gilbert. In each and every one of those dreams, he wanted Gilbert alive and well. He wanted more than anything for the Prussian to survive unscathed. Years later, the treaty was signed, and then the pain was over (or so they thought). Roderich couldn't help but feel relieved that Gilbert was okay.

And then came the time when both Roderich and Gilbert would bond over a mutual hatred over a certain Francis Bonnefoy. Despite the fact that Francis had previously aided Roderich in fighting Gilbert, he 'went through a rebellious phase' after the French-Indian (or the Seven Years') War. This meant another bloody war, another ocean of dead bodies, another country reduced to rubble, another thousand-mile walk upon ashes of what once supported life- and Roderich hated it more with every breath he took. However, this war was better than the previous; and deep down he knew it was because back-to-back with Gilbert, fighting side-by-side not only for themselves but for the other as well, he felt more energized than he ever had before in his life.

The next war wouldn't last a year, but those months were the best the Austrian had ever had in his life. He and Gilbert were again allied, this time against Denmark*, and he spent all his time with Gilbert; it began with fighting, and then training, and then eating meals together. Roderich made sure Gilbert didn't think that it was because he enjoyed his company, though. Roderich's pride couldn't handle that. Meanwhile Gilbert insisted it was because he felt pity for the brunet. This also was, of course, a lie. A typical day would be spent either fighting, training, or even on a few rare occasions playing instruments; Gilbert would help Roderich learn to fight and in return Roderich would cook and help Gilbert with playing a number of instruments.

In specific, Roderich remembered one evening when he had finished cleaning up his dish and was wandering to the music room. He, surprisingly, had heard a beautiful sound wafting from that room, stopping in his tracks just to listen to the heavenly melody that seemed to pour through the walls and straight into Roderich's heart.

Only when the sound stopped did Roderich manage to gather himself enough to wonder who could be in that music room. Certainly not... Gilbert... right?

Sliding through the doors, he managed to slip in before the musician noticed. And yet what he saw defied all logic.

It was Gilbert, playing the flute.

Roderich's breath hitched in his throat. Gilbert's eyes were still shut, fingers still resting on the instrument's shaft, long lashes batting pale skin in concentration. It was the first time Roderich had seen him without a smirk or grin or some trace of ferocious arrogance. He seemed to be almost... at peace.

Of course the Prussian tried to play it off with a "Of course I can play the flute, it's easy, I mean- even you can do it, right?" but from that point forward the time after meals was spent with the pair practicing playing instruments together or catching up on missed sleep from nights spent fighting in the war.

And then the war was over, and their alliance was discarded. But no one could deny the bond between the pair, which they disguised with their rage, which they buried with their bloody past, which they tried to shatter out of a sense of dignity, which they masked with violence.


End file.
